


touch me with a kiss

by Victorian_Asylum



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Could be read as established relationship if you squint, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Taking some liberties with what happens after the end of the episode, Y'all this is kinda soft, spoilers for episode 86
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorian_Asylum/pseuds/Victorian_Asylum
Summary: It wasn't as if things were the same, but that didn't mean they couldn't be again, in time.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 13
Kudos: 238





	touch me with a kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all that episode gave me so many emotions but it broke my writers block and I typed this up in like a day and a half in an emotional haze while ignoring my other responsibilities so uh, yeah.

They were bruised. They were battered. They were so, so tired. The Mighty Nein practically crawled back Zadash, looking for any safe haven to rest their heads. There was so much to discuss. So much to say. But that had to wait. They were barely on their feet as it was, thoroughly exhausted. They had all made it out of another fight alive, if only by a terrifyingly slim margin.

Beau washed herself clean as quickly as she could in the basin in the far corner of the room. There was weariness inside her very bones and she wanted nothing more than to lay down, but she was coated in so much blood, most of it her own. She could feel Yasha’s eyes on her from across the room, tracing her eyes down barely knit together wounds before darting away. The room was silent. Beau wasn’t sure the others had found much rest either. She doubted it. But at least for the moment, they could lay down their weapons.

Beau didn’t bother drying off. She slipped her pants up over her legs and her hips, grabbing her top from its discarded place on the floor. Before she could put it on, Yasha called her name.

Beau turned to look at her. She was sitting on the bed at the far side of the room, just as she had been for a while, eyes gleaming in the low lamp light. It had been a cloudless, moonlit night when they arrived, but soon after, a storm had begun to roll across the eastern sky towards them. The Storm Lord, it seemed, was eager to let his champion know she would not be forsaken.

Yasha stared at the floor. She hasn’t spoken much since the battle. What do you say, after all of that? When your body is not your own, yet your hands commit such atrocities? She glanced up, briefly, eyes flickering to the raw, knotted flesh of Beau’s chest, where the Traveler's magic knit flesh and sinew and bone back together, but only by the smallest margin. She looked back down. “Beau, I-“ She cut herself off.

It only took a few strides for Beau to cross the room, until she was standing in front of her. “Yasha,” she said, but the other woman refused to meet her eyes. “Yasha. It’s okay. I’m okay.” After a moment without response, Beau leaned down to take hold of Yasha’s wrist. When she didn’t flinch away, Beau lifted it up, placing her hand against her chest. “See? Still kicking.” She let go, but Yasha’s hand remained.

Yasha looked up, but still didn’t meet her eye. Instead, she focused on the network of fresh scars. Her fingertips traced the jagged line that ran from the hollow of Beau’s throat down beneath her sternum. Beau shivered at the contact. The wound was so new, so foreign. It didn’t hurt to touch. In all honesty, feeling was still muted and dull around it. Perhaps the nerves would heal in time, perhaps they wouldn’t. In any case, it was still an ugly, visceral thing to look at, and Beau could still feel the phantom pains of Skin Gorger as it’s dulled, rusted blade tore across her flesh. That pain alone had been her undoing, and her vision had faded as she had crumpled to the floor, the world going black as she saw Yasha above, raising her blade to finish the job.

Yasha’s calloused fingers were methodical, gentle. Her hand was covered in new scars as well, small knicks and scratches Beau wasn’t sure she wanted to know the origin of. She followed the second mark that cut a swath from Beau’s right shoulder, across her chest and down to her left hip. The puckered flesh tugged and pulled in an uncomfortable manner every time Beau moved but she was alive and that’s what mattered most to her. What’s a few new scars in comparison?

Yasha’s hand stopped on the jut of Beau’s hip. Her eyes still focused on the wound on Beau’s chest, achingly familiar. Oh how history longs to repeat itself. How easily it almost did.

It happened slowly. A roll of thunder, far off and quiet, echoed across the sky, followed by the soft patter of rain outside the window. When Beau looked down, she saw the glimmer of tears in Yasha’s eyes. They spilled over and down her cheeks and she pressed her forehead against Beau’s stomach, clutching at her waist as sobs wracked her body. “I’ve done such terrible things.” She said, her words half hidden against the hard planes of Beau’s stomach, but the anguish in them lanced through her all the same.

Beau brought her arms up and around Yasha, one hand between her shoulder, the other resting against the back of her head. “That wasn’t you.” She said, surprised at how soft her voice sounded. “You couldn’t control anything.”

“But I saw it. I saw it all. All those people.” The rain outside picked up, the sky opening up in earnest as lightning cracked across the clouds. “I prayed to Kord you wouldn’t be at the Cobalt Soul. I couldn’t bear it if something had happened to you. Even still, I nearly killed you. How can you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. It wasn’t you. It was Obann, and that piece of shit is gone for good now. He can’t touch you.” Beau looked away and up at the ceiling, blinking back the tears that gathered at the edges of her vision. “But for whatever it’s worth, if it helps to hear, I forgive you.”

A pained cry tore from Yasha’s throat, all but swallowed by the wall shaking thunder that followed. Rain battered the window, wind rattling the glass panes. If the Storm Lord felt anything at all, then in this moment, he showed it. Beau held on, stroking Yasha’s hair as she wept. She didn’t really know what to do. This was never going to be something Yasha ever truly got over. It would cling to her in the darkest moments, when everything was falling apart. And it wasn’t as if Beau knew how to ease the pain. She would always bear the physical marks of Obann’s wrath, while Yasha bore the emotional scars. 

Scars never bothered Beau. She’d collected many over the years. She fought up close, personal and unarmed. They came with the job. But the idea that the most prominent ones on her body could trap Yasha in her suffering settled like lead weights around her shoulders. It made her stomach hurt, twisting and tearing and it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. But it wasn’t about her. What mattered was letting Yasha begin to trust in herself again.

They remained for a while like that, Yasha’s anguish all but drowned out by the storm outside. Beau’s legs ached, every inch of her sore to the marrow of her bones but she remained, steadfast. Slowly, piece by piece, Yasha grew quiet. Her shoulder ceased to shake. She pulled away, stared up at Beau with watery eyes that shimmered in the dark and she looked so defenseless and open. Beau’s hands cupped her cheeks of their own accord and her thumbs brushed the swells of them, through dark stains of half-dried makeup. Trust was a strange thing for her to have. She rarely gave it out, and few people let her have it. She didn’t want to drop the ball. Not for Yasha. Especially her.

Yasha made the first move, rising to meet Beau’s lips in one fluid motion and she was so, so soft Beau could have melted. Beau’s eyes slid shut, mouth moving against Yasha’s and it felt so automatic, as if she’d done it a thousand times. She fell into it, the warmth of it like a ray of sun after so long in the cold. When Yasha pulled away, Beau chased after her before her mind caught up and she opened her eyes as Yasha slipped from her hands, sitting back on the bed away from her. “I’m sorry.” Yasha said. “I shouldn’t have- Especially after- Forgive me.”

“Yasha.” It was amazing how all it took was a single moment for a name to feel so much more intimate. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” She reached out a hand, before thinking better of it, stopping halfway. “Can I…?”

Yasha glanced at the half curled hand between them before looking down with a nod. Beau cupped her cheek once more, waiting for their eyes to meet before she spoke. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. I tried to kill you. I nearly did. I have no right to kiss you or touch you.”

“It’s not about rights. I’m in control of my body, I don’t care if you touch me. I’m not mad.” Beau kept her voice quiet. The last thing she wanted was to come across as cross. “Have you- was that something you wanted or was that spur of the moment.”

“I’ve- I've thought about you a lot, Beau.” Yasha leaned into the touch. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to feel anything other than pain and sorrow? “Everyday. “

“I’ve thought about you too.”

“Forgive my weakness. I should know better.” Yasha turned in Beau’s hand, pressing a kiss against her palm, then her wrist. The feeling bloomed across Beau’s skin. Did she know she was leaving a garden in her wake?

“Bullshit.” If Yasha could feel the spike in Beau’s pulse against her lips, she didn’t show it. “What if I want you too?”

“Even after everything I’ve done?”

“Even after. I want to help, anyway I can.”

“You’re here. You didn’t give up on me. That’s enough.”

Now it was Beau who made the first move. She closed the gap between them, slow enough that Yasha could pull away if she chose to. She didn’t. Beau kissed her, soft and slow, lacing it with every ounce of patience she had learned. Yasha didn’t respond at first, as if wrestling inside herself, grappling with the situation. With her desires. After an internal debate, she mirrored Beau, angling her head up. Gods, she felt heavenly. Yasha’s hands slipped their way across Beau’s waist, pulling her closer, and when they fell back onto the bed, Beau hardly missed a step. Yasha was soft and yielding beneath her, devoid of all armor. Beau kissed her until she was breathless, then kissed her some more. She was taking to her time. She’d have been lying if she said she hadn’t thought about this more than once. She wished the circumstances would have been kinder to them both.

Beau pulled back to breath, panting lightly. Yasha gazed up at her with a look of unbridled adoration, want, and a heavy current of sorrow just beneath. It was hard to be seen like that, but Beau didn’t shy away. One hand trailed up to the back of her neck, where Beau’s tattoo twinkled in the dark, a jade star in the stormy gloom. A beacon in its own right, proof that Yasha was home. Yasha smiled at the sight, the smallest quirk of her lips as she traced the filigree across one shoulder. “It suits you.”

“Thanks I- put a lot of thought into it. And money.” Beau wondered how different they all must seem to her now. So much has happened in the last few months. They’re wiser, stronger, battle-tested. They have allies that span continents. They’ve made something of themselves. She’s made something of herself. And somehow they might be the only ones who can rescue this world from an evil many do not even know. She must seem like half a stranger now.

Something in Beau’s expression must have changed, as the smile fell from Yasha’s face, and her hand stilled. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to… to take advantage of you.” She snatched her hand away, as if the thought had scalded her.

“Me? Of course. I was going to ask you the same thing. I know everything is still so raw.”

“I don't really want to focus on that right now. I want to- to ease some of the suffering.”

“Okay. Just checking.” Beau wondered where this softer side of herself came from. She used to blunder her way through social conversations, say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. Never quite comfortable in her own skin. Sex was always a release, a way to rid herself of lingering feelings she couldn’t ever hope process. Didn’t want to. Maybe she really had grown. Maybe it’s easier to admit she needs comfort in the dark, masked in the shadows. 

“Thank you.” Yasha sat up, and for the first time in a long time, she was face to face with Beau. Not as an enemy, not under someone else's control. Just herself, finally free. Unchained. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes drifted down to the scar.

Beau was used to people staring. She was unashamed about her body. But usually they were focused on her abs or her arms. Or her fist, before it clocked them upside the head. “You can still touch me, you know. I’m okay. I’m pretty damn resilient.”

“Yeah. You are.” Yasha angeled her head down, pressing her lips to the scar as lightning lit up the room in brilliant white. Her mouth burned wherever it touched, and even through the numbness Beau could feel the fire, the familiarity of it swelling in her chest. How long had it been since either of them had had a moment to breathe? It seemed like they had all been running up hill for so long, and it was a foreign feeling to be at the top.

Yasha was determined to see every inch of skin given due attention.The extent of her healing capabilities had already been used, but her lips brought with them a different type of healing. A cleansing of sorts, an absolution. Every kiss, a confession. Every response of Beau’s body, an answer. She would see every ache and sting washed away, every memory replaced. She would bow her head and commune, here and now, breath in every thing she had been so long without.

Soon, Beau was splayed out atop the bed, Yasha settled between her thighs, continuing her mission to reclaim every scarred inch of skin on Beau’s body. Everything and nothing had changed. Outside this room, when morning came, there were those among them who would demand answers. Inside these four walls, there were no pressures, no expectations. Just an intimacy they both sorely missed. Beau tangled her fingers in Yasha’s hair as she moved, gasping and arching whenever Yasha’s lips found sensitive skin. It was hard to describe the undercurrent, the sadness, the desire, the relief, but it was all so electric, a livewire between them, and it had Beau dancing underneath Yasha’s ministrations.

Yasha’s mouth found a patch of skin along the cut of Beau’s hips, where the first egregious wound stopped. It was always a particularly sensitive spot, but now it seemed magnified, and Beau breathed Yasha’s name when she planted a kiss there, far more open-mouthed than any previous one. It felt right, to say her name, after so long tiptoeing around it, avoiding the heartache it brought with it. It made it real, anchoring her here, where she belonged.

Yasha eased Beau’s pants down her hips, over her thighs and ankles, lips trailing as she went, and carefully discarding them on the floor. All of Beau was laid bear to see. All that had happened in the months apart, a catalogue of the battles they fought, the times they’ve failed. It had not always been a kind time, to anyone, but Beau wouldn’t change a thing. Well, perhaps one thing, but that had been righted. Their family was whole now. Nothing on the Prime Material plane or beyond would tear them apart again.

The first swipe of Yasha’s tongue was slow and exploratory, gliding through Beau’s folds in a broad stroke. Her touch was light, the flat of her tongue tasting everything Beau had to offer. She was taking her time, committing every sigh and moan to memory, keenly aware of how easily everything can be lost. Beau hooked her heels along the small of Yasha’s back, shifting her hips up for a better angle, and trying to bring Yasha closer. She wanted to feel, even if only for a moment, like there was nothing in between them. Like things were simple. Like they were easy.

Yasha obliged, slipping her hands beneath Beau’s hips, lifting them towards her wanting mouth. Her tongue slipped inside, into the silken warmth and Beau couldn’t help but watch. It was an otherworldly sight between her thighs, and she did her best to quiet the needy whines that slipped past her lips as Yasha’s tongue worked deep inside her. It was a healing, of sorts. An exercise in trust. Even after everything that had happened in the Chantry, Beau had no issue letting Yasha see the most vulnerable parts of herself. To physically and emotionally lay her bare and unmake her. Because this, right here, was the true Yasha. Gentle and sweet and coaxing Beau higher and higher.

Beau’s release built slowly. She wasn’t concerned with getting off. She wanted to enjoy every second of time with Yasha, the scorching heat of her tongue burning away every memory of that time. Yasha had the same idea, taking the time to lavish attention on her, all of her, but she still had a goal in mind. When Beau began to feel the coil tighten deep inside, she urged Yasha upwards, up her body. “I want to see you,” she said, surprised by her own boldness.

Yasha did so, settling atop Beau’s body, face to face. One hand laced through Beau’s fingers, holding her hand where is rested above her head, a grounding weight. The other trailed lower and lower, between her legs, where the fire had steadily been stoked. Two fingers sunk easily into wet heat and Beau’s entire body shivered, the feeling traveling up her spine. This time, Yasha’s rhythm was faster, fingers curling against Beau’s inner walls as she pulled out, only to push back into velvet warmth. By now, Beau was panting and keening, hips pushing against Yasha’s hand to take her deeper, draw her in. Everything had been opened to Yasha, there was nothing left to give. Beau needed more, and she wasn’t aware she’d said as much until she heard Yasha’s quiet laugh against her shoulder.

The thick of Yasha’s palm rubbed against Beau’s clit with every movement, every push of her dexterous fingers, a delicious friction that brought Beau closer and closer until she was standing on the brink, muscles taut, and then she shattered, the scream of her release drowned by thunder. She arched up into Yasha, gripping her hand like a vice, determined to make sure this was real. Yasha coaxed her down with soothing words, kissing her throat, her chin, her cheek, waiting until Beau’s body ceased to shake with the aftershocks. 

She eased her fingers out slowly, bringing her hand up to support her weight. Beau looked at her with the dreamiest expression, and for once she couldn’t bring herself to care. If only Yasha could see herself the way Beau did. She was beautiful, and she was blameless. Very few could had survived what she had gone through. Beau smiled at her. Maybe it was the afterglow. Maybe it was more than that. The storm was beginning to ebb, the rain softening to a soothing sound outside. After a moment, Yasha settled down next to her, and Beau moved to one side to make room. Beau took their hands, still joined, and brought them up to her mouth, kissing every knuckle on Yasha’s hand. They were bruised and swollen, and they were perfect, because they were here, where they belonged. Her hands were her own, to do with as she pleased.

“We’re going to be okay,” Beau said. “We’ll work through this. All of us.”

Yasha didn’t look convinced, but she remained silent, watching Beau in the orange lamp light. They said nothing more. What else could they have said? It would not be an easy process, to heal, but it was a necessary one, and it was a start. Still, they remained like that until they fell asleep, Yasha hand across Beau’s heart, determined to make sure it still beat.


End file.
